Читать книгу Broken Barrier - Grace Helen Mowat - Страница 5

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Next morning out came the paper. “Paper! paper!” newsboys cried from one end of the great city to the other. The morning paper that gave the public the news for which it craved. It appeared on newsstands and breakfast tables. It was read on trains and buses. Everyone, everywhere, must know the news before the work of the day began.

To Maggie and Jenkins the most important item in the paper that morning was found in the classified ads. Jenkins read it when he opened the shop. Maggie read it before she placed the paper on the breakfast table. Trancher read the paper when he was going over on the ferry, but neglected to look at the classified ads. A girl from the Provinces read it at noon, as she sat on a bench in Central Park.

By noon the morning paper had become a discarded thing, thrown into wastepaper baskets or left on trains and park benches. One copy had been blowing about among the fallen leaves until a wind of destiny brought it to the feet of this slim little figure in black. She stooped and picked it up, automatically turning to the classified ads. Maggie’s masterpiece might have escaped her notice but for the one sentence that caught her eye, “must come from the Provinces”.

She had been searching for work in this great alien city for three weeks without any success. At first she had hoped to get a job teaching music or playing for concerts. She knew she had talent and had been well trained, but always people wanted things she did not have—diplomas, records of experience—things that really did not matter but seemed so important in the eyes of employment agencies and schools.

She read Maggie’s advertisement through again. Here was a requirement that unquestionably she could fill. Somewhere someone wanted her just because she came from the “Provinces”. What else was required of her? Some knowledge of cooking. That was all right, she knew how to cook. Working housekeeper. She had no illusions about that. At best it would mean a responsible upper servant. It was a job, and it would give her food and lodgings, at least until something better turned up. She was desperate. Her money was gone except for the price of her fare home and five dollars and a few cents she had in her purse. It was not even enough for another week’s rent.

She must decide quickly. It was either try this or go home, and she could not go home a failure. Yes, she would try this job. Rising with quick determination, she made a note of the telephone number and went in search of a pay telephone.

Maggie, who had already dismissed two unpromising applicants, answered the call in a sceptical frame of mind. “Yes, the situation was still open. She would see her if she came. Yes, any time, the sooner the better. She could take the subway for the Staten Island Ferry. Yes, the conductor would tell her. Yes, the name was Trancher, Mr. Stephen Trancher. Goodbye.”

Lydia followed the direction and found herself on the ferry, moving slowly out into the harbor, leaving the great city behind, on her way to Staten Island. What was she drifting towards, she wondered. The future seemed as obscure as the fogs of her own Bay of Fundy. It was a strange adventure, but she would take what came. And she thought of the old farm house that stood at the end of the corridor of elm trees by the banks of the River St. John. It was for the old place that she needed money. If she could save a thousand dollars, she could go home and run the farm with efficient modern machinery. The thought of home evoked a loneliness that brought tears to her wide wistful eyes, and she looked over the head of the other passengers to a gaudy advertisement pasted on the wall of the ferry’s cabin. The faces that she saw appeared confident and secure, each absorbed in a private world, oblivious to her, to her loneliness, and to the job that finally entered her thoughts. With a determined lift of her head she concentrated on the job and her confidence returned as completely as it had deserted her. No, she would not go home and admit the failure of her plans. She had defied the family lawyer, who had urged her to sell the place.

“Why, the sale of all this fine old furniture alone would yield a small fortune!” he pointed out.

“But I don’t want a fortune,” she had argued. “What I want is to keep the house my ancestors built with their own hands a century and a half ago. It would be a sacrilege to sell it!”

“But this wildcat scheme of yours, going to New York and earning a thousand dollars ... !” he had protested.

She was adamant. So to New York she had come, rooming at a Y.W.C.A. hostel, leaving her grandfather’s old retainers, Jake and Janet, to carry on until she returned with the thousand dollars. Then she would make the place pay as it had never paid before.

Lydia was absorbed in her own world when the ferry docked, and took little notice of the stream of passengers. The bus was waiting and she had no difficulty in finding the house which she surveyed minutely as she approached the door for details that would reveal hints at least of what her life inside this house would be like.

Maggie gave her a severe, appraising look when she let her in. “Too young,” she thought. But as she seated her in the warm, comfortable kitchen, she liked the calm, self-assured way the girl faced her, her conservative black dress, and intelligent expression.

“I have a notion the master would want someone more middle-aged,” she remarked doubtfully.

“That will come in time,” replied Lydia, smiling under Maggie’s penetrating scrutiny; and because Maggie had already begun to like her, she agreed cheerfully.

“That’s a fact,” she said in a more confidential tone, “and a pity it is too. But when you get them middle-aged, they soon get old and useless. I can tell him that if he complains about it. There was a poor, decrepit old thing applied this morning and all she wanted was to have the good wages handed out to her on a platter. Said it was a terrible big house and she’d have to have help with the cleaning. Whenever I’d mention the work she would say, “Please remember I’m not very strong.” So I just led her to the front door and put her out. I hope you know something about work.”

Lydia smiled. “I know enough about it not to be afraid of it. Have you had many other applicants?”

“Only one and she was worse. Looked like a fashion plate. Asked me if there was a room where she could entertain her gentleman friend. I told her there’d never be such goings-on in this house. I turned that minx out the back door.”

Lydia laughed. “I’m beginning to wonder by which door I’ll get turned out.”

“No, I have some hopes of you. Have you had any experience in working out?”

Lydia was obliged to say she had not, but added, “I think I would understand how a gentleman should be waited on. I know how to cook, though I might not be able to handle a large party.”

“You wouldn’t have to do that, ever. When the master entertains he mostly does it at the club. He likes to keep his home peaceful. But you would have to do all the marketing. I could direct you where to get things and tell you what he likes. He’s not fussy about his eating.”

“I believe I could do it,” Lydia said. “Do I wear a uniform?”

“Yes, you had better. I just wear a black dress and white apron. I don’t hold with these colored rigs the girls wear these days.”

“Where can I get one?”

“We’ll have to get something new for you. Anything I’d be wearing would go round you twice. The master pays for it. That black dress you have on would do for now. He don’t notice things much. Now, wait a minute, there’s something here that was too small for me.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a maid’s apron and some stiffly starched collars and cuffs. “You try these on.”

Lydia pulled on the cuffs and adjusted the collar, then tied on the apron. She had once taken the part of a pert and flippant maid in a college play. She felt as though this was just another role in a new play, with Maggie as prompter and stage manager. It might be fun.

“Do I look all right?” she asked.

“Very good indeed,” said Maggie. “Maybe I might try you.”

“I would like to come,” Lydia said. “I am sure I could do the work if you will tell me what I am expected to do. I have no gentleman friend, but I would like to know what wages I would get.”

“Sixty a month, and your board and uniforms provided.”

Lydia made a few quick calculations. Twelve months in a year. That would be seven hundred and twenty dollars. In a year and a half she would earn over a thousand dollars. She would have to use some of it for her personal expenses, but with her uniforms and board provided she would require very little. She had clothes enough for the present and there would be a little money coming in from the farm.

With a pleasant smile that won Maggie’s heart, she said, simply, “If you will help me, I will do the very best I can.”

“Sure I’ll help you,” Maggie said. “I’ll be living only two blocks down the street, above the grocery store. I can look in often to see how you’re doing and you can always get me on the ’phone.”

“That will be a great help. When shall I come?”

“Could you come tomorrow?”

“Yes, I should be glad to.”

“That will suit me fine. You see, I’m expecting to get married and I want to have a few free days to settle my mind before the event takes place. This tying yourself up with a man for the rest of your life is an awesome thing to contemplate.”

“I suppose it is,” said Lydia.

“So, now, you come out first thing in the morning and I’ll show you what’s to be done. Will you tell me your name? I didn’t catch it over the ’phone.”

“My name is Lydia Allen.”

“That is a good, sensible name, and do you come from the Provinces?”

“Yes, my home was on a farm on the River Saint John.”

“Was it now?” Maggie said approvingly. “I was raised on that same River, down Jemseg way.”

“We lived some distance from Jemseg,” Lydia told her, rising abruptly and removing the apron. She did not want to be questioned further.

“How did you happen to come all this long way from home?” Maggie asked, as she let her out by the front door.

“I needed to earn some money,” said Lydia briefly. “Goodbye, and thank you for your kindness. I will come back early tomorrow.”

“So that’s settled,” said Maggie, as she closed the door. “I hope to heavens the master takes to her!”